Half/Rest

 

It’s fantastic

how You meet me here

in my undoing—spit-shined

as if You don’t see it all.

 

Those smudges

have just made it worse—

I can see that now.

 

But, in my belly

there’s half a Santa Cruz peanut butter

and Southwest honey sandwich,

and half a glass of sun tea

fresh-bled in the Arizona sun.

 

Why “Arizona’s?”  It’s all of ours, really.

But it feels like it’s mine today.

 

Mr. Siamese watches with me

the half a dozen

Gambel’s quails marching around

pecking the yard

filling their already plump physiques—

turbans bouncing.

 

I smile and laugh, and it feels good,

since I’ve already cried three times today,

after a dry spell.

 

My son’s big warm hand,

the one I used to fit into mine,

rests for a moment on my shoulder

 

and I forget

all the other things

resting on me.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Poem-a-Day 16:  write a “something fantastic” poem

 

“Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  Matthew 11:28

“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”  1 Peter 5:7

 

Beer and Swearing (a Lesson Learned on Vacation)

 

Remember that root beer float we had at Mt Rushmore

made with Jefferson’s original ice cream recipe,

swearing it was the best we’d ever had—

 

and how we swore to remind ourselves

that we’re always in a rush, and always want more,

when maybe we should just sip, spoon and float?

  

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

NaPoWriMo 15:  a six-line poem

You really can get ice cream made from Thomas Jefferson’s original recipe at Mount Rushmore, and it really was the best root beer float I’ve ever had.

 

Pinions

 

 

If not for

the twig-nest

of our twined fingers,

 

and the threefold cord

we’ve kept

to cup

 

in prayer

long midnights—

as hope has crashed

 

and risen—

and the bright blue shells

we’ve been given

 

last to hatch

unbroken by anything

but song—

 

if not but for

the soft-feathered provision

of Your constant love.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Poetic Bloomings:  write an “If not for (blank)” poem

Day 14

 

American Robins lay bright blue eggs, three to five per clutch, with four being the most common. 

This “American Robin” has had four in her “clutch.”  We’ve raised three to adulthood, with our fourth nearly there.  We’ve been through much—depression, addictions, overdose, losing loved ones to suicide, the long-term effects of PTSD/I, etc.  This list is not exhaustive.  It’s hard to be a parent, it’s hard to be a child—it’s hard to be a person—life can be filled with so much pain.  But there is so much beauty, too.  In part, that’s why I’m using birds in my poetry so much this month.  And for me, I could not have sustained any of it without the Master Brood-keeper.

“He will cover you with his pinions (feathers), and under his wings you will find refuge;” Psalm 91:4a